


Miami Showdown

by poifan_588



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Action, Character Study, F/F, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poifan_588/pseuds/poifan_588
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do you like your daiquiri, sweetie?”<br/><em>“Can’t you wait ‘til we’re done?”</em><br/>“I know you can handle him easily.”</p>
<p>Root and Shaw in Miami, beating up on drug dealers who’d moved onto dealing explosives. This action sequence takes place right before their short cocktail hour chat in 3x20 (Death Benefit), and is written from Shaw’s first-person point of view. Warnings: violence, references to drug use, and puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miami Showdown

I love surprises.

Unfortunately, the world is mostly unsurprising.

Take this guy, Sonny. He's not surprising. He's just your average dumb coke dealer, got greedy, will get his ass handed to him. Dur. His only value to me is as my eventual punching bag.

But these couple days have been surprising. Root's good for that, I've known since the Greenfield mission. When she's not being annoying I can tolerate her somewhat. In this trip she's been particularly tolerable.

Think I'm enjoying this a little too much, a troubling development.

Both Reese and Finch would disapprove. I could already see their faces now. But what the hell, they could mind their own business.

"Well?"  
  
I snapped to. Sonny was staring me down. His mouth was twisted into a sneer. Smarmy fucker. A strand of hair unbound by his greasy ponytail hovered over his ugly face.

Time for me to bust out the twins. By that I mean my fists. 

"No deal." I reached out, gripped his hair at the back and slammed his face onto the counter, knocking him out cold. 

I saw Root slip behind the counter and tase the one that's wet behind the ears. He fell forward into the sink with a thud. Now two down, three behind me. When Root's all business, she is especially tolerable.

Maybe a little _too_ tolerable.

I turned just in time to see poor man's Ricky Martin lunge toward me. Amateur move, dumbass. I sidestepped and leaned my body away to let him grab at air, then used the momentum to swing the empty rum bottle around with my right arm in a big, flashy loop, and cracked it down on the back of his head.  
  
"Your eight o'clock," Root said, from behind the counter.  
  
I saw a blur at the corner of my left eye. I ducked and turned in toward the movement, as a punch swung wide above me. Ah, I remembered, the geriatric. In my lowered position, I transferred my weight to my left foot and shot my left fist upwards, landing a tremendous upper cut right into the old man's nuts. He fell forward like a tree, his face hitting the counter. Excellent. I gave him the bottle treatment too, to the back of his skull. I heard a nice, satisfying _thunk_.  
  
Then I saw a bottle full of liquor sail over my head.  
  
It smashed against the side of the head belonging to the mountain of a man that was coming straight at me. He grabbed his face and grimaced in pain.  
  
"Good aim, Root."  
  
It only deterred him slightly, but it was enough for me to get my bearings.  
  
"I only aim to please."  
  
I would've said something about the bad pun, but my attention was otherwise occupied. That object of attention was about 6'3", 300 pounds of fat and muscle. And he looked angry. Just the way I like my opponents.  
  
Then, he went ahead cracked his knuckles. Oh, it's on, baby.  
  
"C'mon 'Roids, let's see what you got." I placed the empty bottle neatly on the counter (I might need it later), then I got into my awesomest fighting stance. I glimpsed from the corner of my eye to see if Root was looking. She was not. Ugh. She seemed to be making something behind the counter--  
  
"Grrrgh!" A fist the size of my head floated into my peripheral vision. I barely leaned back fast enough to avoid it, and I felt his stupidly large knuckles as they whiffed against my bangs. Too close a call. I used my backward momentum to launch a big right hook to the side of his face.  
  
_Crack_. Oww, my hand. Hard as a rock.  
  
I stepped back a little to give myself a bit more room to fight, shaking off the pain in my right fist. I took that time to inspect my work. He didn't seem fazed. Damn it.  
  
He swung at me again, this time a straight right hand that I saw coming miles away. The thing is with these big guys, they don't move that fast, and this guy's form was sloppy as hell to boot. I diverted the course of his punch slightly by tapping hard on the side of his moving forearm with my open left hand, and as he went flying past my right, out of control, I slammed my right fist into his face, landing squarely on his nose. I felt the cartilage crumble under my knuckles. Blood burst out from his nose in slow motion, the red spray flying through the air. Beautiful.  
  
The bloody arc of the aerial spray followed him downward as 'Roids splayed out onto his hands and knees on the floor. Aww, yeah. Perfect time to whip out the elbow drop. Jumping up laterally, I brought my right elbow down as hard as I could with the weight of my body, slamming it into the back of his neck. I felt the satisfying assault of my bone against his neck muscles as he screamed. Thank you, WWE.  
  
I pushed myself up while examining his pitiful ass. ‘Roids was bloody, on the floor, and writhing in pain. 300 pounds of mess, courtesy of Ms. Sameen Shaw. "Did you see that?" Grinning, I looked behind the counter to see what Root was up to.  
  
My jaw gaped, and I felt my head shaking in disbelief. She was making cocktails.  
  
“How do you like your daiquiri, sweetie?”  
  
_“Can’t you wait ‘til we’re done?”_  
  
“I know you can handle him easily.”  
  
Suddenly, I felt hands grabbing my ankles. Before I had time to react, I felt myself falling as 'Roids pulled my feet fast from under me. I barely had time to place my hands out under the head to break my fall, as my torso slammed against the floor. Shit.  
  
“Well, your daiquiri?”  
  
“Just make me something!”  
  
With both my legs in his grip, I basically had one option. He pulled me toward him by my ankles, and I stayed loose, letting myself get closer. As soon as my arm got within reach, I slammed the tips of my two right fingers into his left eye as hard as I could. He bellowed. Music to my ears. Better yet, his hand let go of my right leg. That's all the room I needed.  
  
I swung my free leg around to sit up and grabbed his free arm, which was reaching for his eyes in pain. I gripped his wrist with both hands and twisted, straightening out his arm, and as I did, placed my right leg flat against his torso and pushed the crook of my left leg hard against his chin. Then I extended my body and leaned backwards, leveraging his arm against my body, and squeezed my thigh against his windpipe.  
  
“So can I go heavy on the lime?”  
  
“…damn it, Root…wait, wait…not too much lime.”  
  
“A drop, then.”  
  
His fingers clawed against my leg as I continued to apply my death grip.  
  
“…actually, zero drops.” Down, motherfucker.  
  
“…and hold any juice.”  
  
“Sweetie, daiquiri’s just rum, lime and juice.” She sounded annoyed.  
  
It took all of my strength to keep him in that position as he struggled. A bit of a challenge, this one.  
  
“…yeah, hold everything except rum.”  
  
“You’ll be missing out on the 'daiquiri' part, but if you say so. I’ll just garnish it a little.”  
  
“…fine. Busy now, Root.”  
   
Eventually, ‘Roid’s movements subsided and he went limp. I continued to apply pressure for another ten seconds in case. As I let go and got up, I kicked his face for good measure.  
  
"Holy hell. I need a drink."  
  
Suddenly I felt a whiff of bad cologne, and an arm came around my throat from behind. Damn it, missed one. My vision began to blur as I struggled against the goon's grasp. Colors began to dance in front of my eyes.  
  
Then I heard a familiar zapping sound.  
  
The pressure slowly lifted from my neck, and I could breathe again. I gulped and coughed, as air filled up my lungs.  
  
"Don't say I didn't do anything for you."  
  
"Thanks." I got up, rubbing my neck. Then I took the empty bottle I sat down on the counter and I cracked the bottle down at the back of the guy's fat skull. That’s for sneaking up on me.  
  
"Now that the business part our trip has concluded, shall we have a bit of a breather? The FBI’s on their way, but we have a little time. Your…rum, it’s over there. It’s excellent quality--I guess those cocaine shipments must have paid off in the past. Sonny here shouldn't've stuck his _nose_ where it didn't belong, don't you think?"  
  
Ugggghhhh. A cocaine pun.  
  
Normally, I wouldn’t have taken this shit, but it was Root’s lucky day. I was in a good mood. "You can say that he paid dearly through his nose." Two can play that game.  
  
"You certainly have a fine nose for humor, dear."  
  
"Blows your mind, doesn't it?"  
  
"Urrgh...what the fuck is wrong with you people?" As I turned my head toward the voice, I saw Sonny lifting his face from the bar and pulling out a handgun from underneath the table. Wrong move, coke fiend.  
  
I grabbed his wrist with both hands and pushed my back into him, pulling the firearm forward and next to my body as he fired a shot into the carpet. Then I turned my feet, and my torso violently along with them, twisting his wrist as he grimaced in pain and loosened his grip on the gun. I easily grabbed it out of his hand with my right, and immediately pushed the barrel against his temple.  
  
"Make any moves, and you'll be paying for it out through your nose."  
  
"Okay, okay." Sonny raised his hands in the air.  
  
"Good. I don’t wanna blow your brains out." I took the butt of the firearm and brought it down sharply to the back of his head. Sonny's face was once again plastered onto the counter, unconscious. "Keep your nose clean, Sonny."  
  
"He _nose_ better now, don't you think?"  
  
Wow.  
  
Root scrunched up her chin and made that annoying little face she does. _Too much?_ She seemed to ask.  
  
"A bit on the nose, don't ya think?" Nailed it.  
  
She broke into a grin. I waited for her to say something, but nothing came. Instead, she came around the counter and sat down at the bar, in front of a cocktail. Mine was waiting in the seat next to her. The garnish looked a bit overdone, but okay. I sat down and sipped. Hmm, pretty good. The exquisite burnt caramel note really came through, above an oaky, well-structured base.  
  
Okay, maybe I could get used to this. Now that’s a surprising thought.

Shit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry for the puns. Many thanks to theothergaycousin on tumblr for the brilliant and descriptive call-to-arms on this subject. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
